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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25010419">the best part of believe is the "lie"</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotatheory/pseuds/gotatheory'>gotatheory</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Once Upon a Time (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(remember those "pleases" in s1? they're baaaack), Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, F/M, Orgasm Denial, Powerplay, a bit of comeplay, a soupçon of spanking and breathplay, blowjob, guest appearances by regina prime and emma swan, is 'humiliation kink' a thing?, this is probably one of the filthiest things i've ever written, usual messed up power dynamics because it's rumple and regina</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:35:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,668</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25010419</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotatheory/pseuds/gotatheory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Queen offers to roleplay as Regina. Rumple doesn’t refuse. A rewrite of a scene in episode 6.08.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the best part of believe is the "lie"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Just as a note since I tagged dubcon: While Queenie consents to everything, part of the roleplay aspect is pretending that Rumple's "pleases" have their same punch as if they were under the curse in season one (that is, that she has to do anything he says, so long as he says please).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Queen enters the pawn shop, still wearing Regina’s clothes and hairstyle, her body vibrating with excitement at how well her plans are going. Her so-called “better” half was trapped in the mirror world with the savior, while her insipid family has no idea she has replaced her. Everything is falling into place, so she thinks she’s earned a bit of fun. The front of the shop is empty, and she slinks toward the backroom, a smirk on her face as she pushes through the curtain.</p>
<p>Gold has his back to her, giving her enough time to school her expression into something more fitting of Regina. He looks over his shoulder at her, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies her, his gaze trailing from her face to her body before he turns back around.</p>
<p>“Never thought I’d see you in a pantsuit, Your Majesty,” he quips, and the Queen chuckles, impressed.</p>
<p>“Guess you can’t fool the Dark One,” she says, walking further into the room, unable to resist lightly turning the spinning wheel when she passes it on her way to him. “But… we could <em>pretend</em> I was Regina…” She’s reached him now, her chin resting on his shoulder as she whispers into his ear. “If you wanted to.”</p>
<p>She’s pressed close to him, so she can feel the way he tenses, hear the ever-so-slight intake of breath, and it makes her grin.</p>
<p>She’s found a weakness, it seems. A kink.</p>
<p>“Have you thought about it, hmm?” she breathes, sliding her hands down his arms, until she can grasp his hands. He’s stopped fiddling with the… whatever he was working on, has gone completely still as she frees his fingers from around the thing. “You can tell me. Did you have some thoughts about the Mayor? Fantasies about fucking her in her office, or here in your shop?”</p>
<p>The tension ripples through him, an imperceptible shiver running over his skin, and the Queen catches her bottom lip between her teeth. “Tell me, Mr. Gold,” she says deliberately, and this time, she nips at his earlobe instead of her own lip. “Tell me what you want to do to Madam Mayor…”</p>
<p>“I want… you to leave,” he says, and she chuckles darkly, shaking her head.</p>
<p>“Do you now?” she teases, drawing one of her hands away from his, letting it find his waist and then gliding down until she reaches his crotch. She cups him through his trousers, finds him already stiffening against her palm. “Are you sure about that, Mr. Gold?”</p>
<p>He lets her grope him, even gasps softly as she palms his dick, and she has no idea why he even tries to pretend. She knows he wants this, that he wants her; she’s holding the evidence in her hand right now.</p>
<p>“Your Majesty,” he says warningly, his own hand reaching down to wrap his fingers around her wrist. He stills her, but doesn’t pull her away, and she bites down on her bottom lip to contain her grin.</p>
<p>“Who?” she murmurs, right against his ear.</p>
<p>There is silence for several seconds, ticking away into a full minute, before Gold removes her hand and turns around to face her. His face is stern, and she’s just about to pout at him for ruining her fun when he says, “Step back, Madam Mayor. Please.”</p>
<p>Oh. <em>Oh</em>.</p>
<p>That has a shiver dancing down her spine, a delighted, devious smile spreading over her face as she realizes what he’s said. She schools her features, putting on the Mayor Mills mask like a second skin, even as her insides tremble with excitement.</p>
<p>He releases her wrist with a disdainful sort of sigh, even as he looks over her body. She notes the way he lingers at her mouth, her cleavage, and she accentuates the pouty purse of her lips, adjusts her posture so her breasts are pushed out a bit more. And then, as he asked, she steps back.</p>
<p>“Must things always be like this between us, hmm?” he murmurs, and he’s setting a scene, she can tell, so she stays quiet. Waits for a bit more information on the game they’re playing. “You think just because you sit in that office and have people address you as <em>Madam Mayor </em>that you have any power here.”</p>
<p>The Queen opens her mouth then, because Regina would, but Gold holds up a finger. “Ah-ah,” he shushes her. “Silence, please.”</p>
<p>The power holding her to obey his <em>please</em>s broke when the original curse did, but this whole thing is about pretend, and so she shuts her mouth, scowling at him as if she’s annoyed instead of turned on.</p>
<p>“I think it’s time you’re reminded who actually holds the power here, dear,” he says with a dark, casual smirk as he rakes his gaze over her once more. “Let’s get a bit more comfortable first. Take off your blazer, please.”</p>
<p>Perhaps if she were actually Regina, she’d think about how wrong this is. How messed up it is that every <em>please</em> makes her wetter, knowing that it’s a command and not a request (and one that, in the past, she would have been unable to refuse). But she’s not Regina, she’s the Queen, and “wrong” would be her middle name, if she had one. She shrugs off her blazer, sneering a bit to make it seem like this isn’t something she wants to be doing, and if she just so happens to push her breasts out in an attempt to seem indignant, then so be it.</p>
<p>“Now what?” she asks, raising her eyebrows at him. Since she still has the blazer in her hands, she holds it out to him. “Did you want to try it on? I’m not sure it’s really the right style for you, Gold…”</p>
<p>He smirks at her, just a little upturn at the corner of his mouth, shaking his head. “You never did learn when to stay <em>quiet</em>, Regina,” he says, and then with a speed she wasn’t expecting, he wraps his fingers around her throat, holding tight. She gasps, out of surprise more than anything, and he applies just enough pressure to make it difficult to breathe. “Now, be silent, <em>please</em>.”</p>
<p>She tilts her head forward, the best she can do to acquiesce to his order with his hand around her neck.</p>
<p>“Good girl,” he murmurs, releasing her throat and cupping her chin almost tenderly, if not for the predatory look in his eyes. “You will be good, won’t you, Madam Mayor? Or would you prefer to be punished? It’s entirely up to you.”</p>
<p>The Queen bites her tongue, and he smirks after a moment of no answer.</p>
<p>“I want you to step back now, several feet,” he says, taking a step back as well until he’s backed against the table. She hesitates, confused, but walks backwards until he tells her to stop. “I know you’ve decided to listen for a change, but I think you do deserve a bit of punishment for speaking out of turn, hmm?”</p>
<p>He pauses for her to answer, but she only tilts her head a bit, waiting for him to continue. “Kneel,” he says, calmly and casually, but there’s no mistaking the order underlying his tone. He expects this to be followed, and for a moment, she almost refuses. Already she suspects she won’t like what’s coming next.</p>
<p>The Queen waits for the <em>please</em> to come, but instead Mr. Gold watches her expectantly, waiting somehow patiently and impatiently at once. She remembers this contradiction from their lessons, when he’d seem so understanding while he taught her to suddenly exploding at the smallest provocation or failure. Suddenly, she feels like she knows this game all too well, the ways he would push her buttons to get the reaction he wanted, and in this moment, he’s not going to give her the out. If he says <em>please</em>, then it’s a part of the pretend scenario they’ve concocted; he wants her to kneel for him without any pretense, without any false magic binding her.</p>
<p>She takes a deep breath, shifting her weight subtly, and just in that miniscule movement she becomes keenly aware of how wet she is. Looking him straight in the eye, never once faltering, she kneels. </p>
<p>His smirk is downright diabolical, and then he says, “Now, crawl to me on your hands and knees.”</p>
<p>Her breath rushes out of her, indignation loosening her tongue, but Gold merely holds up a finger and <em>ah-ah</em>s at her, reminding her to stay quiet. She clamps down hard enough on the inside of her cheek that she tastes blood. Closing her eyes, she takes several breaths, and then she leans forward, pressing her hands to the floor.</p>
<p>It’s not until he urges her forward with, “Come on, dear, we haven’t got all day. Someone could walk into my shop at any moment and come back here. Surely you don’t want the good townspeople to see their mayor undressed and kneeling on the floor like some harlot?”</p>
<p>The Queen grits her teeth, trying to ignore the pulse throbbing in her clit at the thought of being caught like this. It would be humiliating, and of course she’d never actually let something like that happen, but the thought of it makes her blood run hot. She keeps her eyes down as she places one hand in front of the other, her knees sliding over the wood floor beneath her, crossing the distance methodically. Once she can see the toes of his shoes, she stops and looks up at him.</p>
<p>His open look of lust almost makes the humiliation of crawling worth it. His eyes are impossibly dark with desire, his mouth just barely agape, and he stares down at her with an intensity that makes her shiver.</p>
<p>“Was that to your liking, Mr. Gold?” she asks in soft, coquettish tones, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.</p>
<p>That seems to snap him out of it, and he shifts his expression to something much colder. “I didn’t give you permission to speak, Regina,” he tells her. “I should make you crawl back over there and do it all over again. Maybe from further across the room this time.” Before she can process the embarrassing thought of doing it a second time, from further away, he’s reaching for his belt, unbuckling it and undoing the fly of his trousers. “But I think I’ve got a better way to deal with your mouth.”</p>
<p>The Queen smirks to herself, because for all that he is the Dark One, there are still some ways that he’s a man. So she lets him slide his dick into her mouth, takes him as deep as she can into her throat, knowing he relishes the way she gags at first. This is demeaning, all of it has been demeaning, but she loves it. Loves the humiliating way she’s positioned in front of him, the way he grips her hair and holds her still as he fucks her mouth.</p>
<p>She doesn’t know how long he lasts, too busy caught up in trying to catch her breath in the moments that he pulls back to notice, but time feels dilated anyway. When he’s in her mouth, it feels like hours as her body struggles for air, and when he’s pulled out, the seconds feel truncated, too short to measure. And yet, it seems far too soon when he pulls out and doesn’t push back in, his grip tightening on her hair and pulling her head back until she’s looking up at him.</p>
<p>He looks down at her with wild eyes, and she thinks she can see the reptilian pupils of the Dark One staring at her. “Good girl, Regina,” he murmurs, breath tight, and she realizes he’s jerking himself off. “Such a — ah, <em>ahhh</em> — good girl.”</p>
<p>He groans then, spending on her chin, her neck, and her skin burns with embarrassment and arousal. Once he’s finished wringing every last drop onto her décolletage, he presses his dick to her lips until she takes him back in. His thrusts are measured, almost gentle after the forceful way he used her before, and she dutifully sucks him clean, looking up at him flirtatiously when he retreats once more.</p>
<p>Holding eye contact, she runs her tongue over her bottom lip, catching it between her teeth to maximize flirtation, but he’s more controlled now. He merely looks at her, not reacting, and then he’s letting go of her hair so that he can tuck himself back into his pants.</p>
<p>“Stand up, Madam Mayor,” he says, adjusting his clothes so that he looks presentable once more.</p>
<p>The Queen is keenly aware of how she’s undressed, even if it’s just her blazer. His come still staining her skin only enhances the feeling of nakedness, of vulnerability, and it makes something inside of her itch. She feels <em>dirty</em>, and she’s not so sure she likes this particular kind of dirty. But she follows his order, standing up, and waits for his next one.</p>
<p>He turns his back to her, and for a second, she’s confused because it sounds like he’s picked up whatever he was working on before.</p>
<p>“I—?” she starts, but then closes her mouth unless she’s still not supposed to speak.</p>
<p>Over his shoulder, without even looking, he says, “You may leave.”</p>
<p>“What?” She breaks character, dropping Regina’s higher voice for her normal tone. “Surely we’re not finished. At least, <em>one</em> of us didn’t get a chance to.”</p>
<p>Rumple turns his head, barely, not enough to look right at her. “Oh? Did you want something else, dear?”</p>
<p>There is a little voice in her brain, some forgotten primal instinct, that rears up at that. <em>Warning. Danger ahead</em>, it says, but the Queen stopped listening to that voice a long time ago. “I certainly didn’t crawl on the floor, suck your dick, and let you <em>come on me</em> to not even get an orgasm out of it,” she snaps, crossing her arms and glaring at his profile.</p>
<p>He turns away again, speaking in a low voice that sends that primal instinct shivering down her spine. “Well, all right then, dearie. Let’s continue this, shall we?” When he turns, he still looks like Mr. Gold, but the way he moves is all Rumplestiltskin. Every glance, every gesture feels more measured, more purposeful as he clears the tabletop and methodically sets the objects on a nearby counter. When he’s finished, he says, “Sit on the table, Madam Mayor, please.”</p>
<p>Her arousal has dimmed a little, either because of his sudden dismissal earlier or the way every instinct is telling her to run away, but the Queen isn’t afraid of anything. Especially not Rumplestiltskin. So she marches to the table, trying to look as put out as Regina would at being ordered about, and then she rests her ass against it, not fully sitting.</p>
<p>Gold raises an eyebrow. “I believe I said <em>sit</em>, Regina. Please don’t disobey me again.”</p>
<p>Scowling, she lifts herself onto the table, and tries to not feel ridiculous sitting there.</p>
<p>“Good. Now, take off your top and bra, and then I want you to touch your breasts.”</p>
<p>Somehow, this wasn’t what she was expecting, and it has her hesitating. Before he can correct her, she pulls her top over her head, and then reaches behind her back to unhook her bra, discarding them both somewhere on the table. For a moment, she is still again, trying to think of how to go about touching herself in such a performative way. She knows he wants it to be sexy, so she trails her nails over her ribs first, working her way to her breasts until she’s cupping them in her hands.</p>
<p>Her motion is stilted at first, trying to get used to the feel of his eyes on her and the way his stare is giving nothing away, but eventually, she pushes that away. She focuses instead on the weight of her breasts in her hands, or the way her fingers twist or squeeze her nipples, and soon, she’s gasping at the familiar feel of her own touch. She doesn’t hear him walk over, has no idea how he can be so silent, and her eyes have fluttered shut when she feels him dragging his fingers through the mess still drying on her neck. She watches as he spreads it down, down, until he’s pushing her hand out of the way and coating her nipple with it.</p>
<p>Well. That’s unnervingly hot.</p>
<p>She stops touching then, leaning back on her hands as he takes over, moaning and gasping as he spreads his come over her breasts and then pinches her nipples so tightly between his thumb and forefinger that she’s not sure whether she’s trying to get closer to him or pull away. “Oh! <em>Ow</em>!” she cries out, wincing, but he doesn’t let up, just holds her there as her back arches at first, and then her spine curls in, trying to shift him off of her abused breasts.</p>
<p>He releases her after another moment, cupping her breasts in his hands, squeezing them softly between his fingers. He’s smirking now, the collected facade just barely slipping as she writhes. “Slide a hand between your legs, Madam Mayor. Over your trousers, please. You’re going to touch your clit for me now, but you’re not allowed to come. Understand?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” she answers breathlessly, gasping as he strums his thumbs over her nipples. She reaches down quickly, pressing hard through her slacks. She whimpers; it’s nowhere near enough stimulation, even as she tries to rock her hips up into her palm.</p>
<p>Time goes funny again, and she has no idea how long she sits there, rubbing her clit through too-thick material while he tortures her breasts until her nipples are hard, reddened points. “I need — <em>fuuuuck</em>,” she starts to say, trailing off when he tugs at her nipples, holding on to them for as long as he can until they pop out of his grasp. “Oh, God.”</p>
<p>“Were you going to make a request, dear?” he murmurs, letting go of one breast to catch her chin in his hand. He tilts her head forward until she’s meeting his eyes. “Let’s hear it, hmm?”</p>
<p>“My pants — can I take them off? Or slide my hand underneath them? Anything.” She sounds desperate, frantic almost, but she’s out of embarrassment at this point.</p>
<p>He tilts his head, smirking at her. “Why would you need to do that, Madam Mayor? You’re not allowed to come, remember?”</p>
<p>“Fuck,” she groans out, her hand falling away from her cunt to grip the table. She squeezes so hard she thinks she might splinter the wood. “What do I — how can I — I’ll do anything. Crawl all over the floor for you. Or, or, suck your dick some more. You can come on any part of me that you want. But I need to come.”</p>
<p>Mr. Gold reaches for her hand, prying it off the table and pressing it back between her legs. Her fingers start moving insistently against her cloth-covered clit, a whimper caught in her throat, as his hand holds hers there. “Would you do all that, Your Majesty? And more?” he asks, and she moans, nodding. “Would you let me fuck you against the glass door of my shop, so that anyone walking by might see what a slut you are? Would you stay on your hands and knees and wear nothing but a collar for me all day? Would you rub this sopping cunt of yours against my cane until you came? Would you do whatever disgusting, degrading thing I could think of for you to do, all because I asked you to?”</p>
<p>“<em>Yes</em>,” she gasps after every question, dignity be damned at this moment. All that matters is the desire between her legs, how desperately she needs a firmer touch without layers of fabric, and in this state, every humiliating thing sounds delicious, filthy, but more importantly, like she might get an orgasm after all.</p>
<p>He removes his hand and hers from between her thighs, and says, “Take off your clothes, Regina.”</p>
<p>The Queen moves faster than she ever has, but he is faster still. She’s barely got her trousers and panties around her knees before he’s reaching for her, grabbing her hand and shoving it against her cunt. She barely hears his command of <em>Rub</em> before she’s moving her fingers against her clit, gasping, every sensation lighting up now that there’s nothing impeding skin against skin. She rubs faster, harder, cries out when he unexpectedly shoves two fingers inside of her, and oh no, he still hasn’t given her permission to come. “Mister — <em>oh</em>, fuck — <em>Rumple</em>,” she tries, thinking she should ask, but she can’t get the words out.</p>
<p>“Not yet, not yet,” he tells her, adding a third finger, and she groans, her free hand gripping the table, her nails digging into the wood. He fucks her hard, those three fingers driving inside of her, her own pressing down firmly on her clit, and then he’s grabbing her breast with his other hand, pinching her still sore nipple, and— “Come. Please.”</p>
<p>She moans loudly as her orgasm surges over her, her cunt clenching hard around his fingers, body trembling as she comes so hard she can’t see. When it’s over, she’s breathing heavily, gasping as he pulls his hand free from the clutch of her thighs. Distantly, she feels him tugging at her, and she thinks he might even be saying something but she can’t make it out as he helps her stand. Before she’s fully cognizant of it, she’s bent over the table, with him pressed against her as he thrusts his cock inside of her.</p>
<p>“Oh!” she gasps sharply, voice high and breathy, everything still sensitive. He has enough grace to pause once he’s buried to the hilt, the aftershocks still running through her.</p>
<p>Against her ear, he whispers, “Remember that you wanted this, dearie. I tried to give you an out.”</p>
<p>The Queen grits her teeth, coordinates her muscles, and gets enough leverage to rock her hips back against him. “I can take whatever you can dish out, <em>dearie</em>,” she snaps, roleplay forgotten. “Now fuck me.”</p>
<p>One hand grips her hips, while the other grips her hair, still in Regina’s short hairstyle. He uses that to pull her head towards him, arching her back. “What happened to being a good girl for me, Your Majesty?” he asks, cutting off any chance of her to reply by thrusting into her hard and fast.</p>
<p>It’s a blur of pain and pleasure, from his tight grip on her hair keeping her in an uncomfortable position to the way his dick slams into her, driving her hips into the table beneath her, and it has her lighting up. Crying out, shouting curses and his name and nonsense as he takes her, and when he moves his other hand from her hip to her clit, she shouts as she comes a second time. He keeps his hips moving inside of her, drawing it out with each slap of skin against skin, until he slows and pulls out of her, letting go of her hair.</p>
<p>She slumps forward, catching herself before she hits the hard surface, but she feels wrecked. There is moisture clinging to her face that might be sweat, or might be tears, and that’s not even getting into how her body feels as if it’s been carved out and overfilled at the same time. “Fuck,” she mutters breathlessly, and then she jerks as she feels Rumple’s hands against her ass.</p>
<p>“Oh, did you think we were finished?” he says with a little chuckle. “Not quite, dear. I’ve got one more thing I’d like to do to you.”</p>
<p>The Queen groans, pressing her forehead to the table. “I don’t think I can go another round just yet.”</p>
<p>He chuckles again, saying, “Don’t worry. You won’t have to do much.”</p>
<p>That’s when she feels him spread the cheeks of her ass, and something cool and slick against her asshole. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snaps, trying to look back at him, but then he’s pressing her down with a hand at her back.</p>
<p>“Stay still, Your Majesty.” A beat. “Please.”</p>
<p>He sounds so fucking smug, and he’s just waiting to see what she’ll do, and she can’t help it. She could disobey, she could teleport out of there, or throw a fireball at him for his insolence. His <em>please</em>s don’t actually do anything anymore, except for the frisson of arousal that sparks through her.</p>
<p>She relaxes against the table.</p>
<p>“Thatta girl,” he murmurs, removing his hand from her back and returning it to hold her ass. He spreads lubricant against her, and once he’s satisfied, he slips the tip of his finger into her. Like most things (though, as she’s noticed, not usually sex with her), he’s slow and methodical as he prepares her ass. He works one finger in, muttering things to her that could almost be praise if they weren’t also degrading, and she closes her eyes, breathing in and out as she tries to stay relaxed.</p>
<p>She feels his finger retreat, and then more lube, and then two fingers pressing into her. She gasps at the tightness, a breathy <em>Oh God</em> escaping her, and she wriggles her hips. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, but he doesn’t go faster or harder either. He keeps the pace, pressing in and then pulling back until he almost slips free, then pushing back in.</p>
<p>Time dilates again, as she slips into a place that is relaxed and on edge all at once, and she doesn’t know how long Rumple uses two fingers on her ass. Hours, maybe, or perhaps only seconds. Either way, there comes a moment when he pulls back and back and back, until his fingers are gone, and she thinks it must be over. At least, that’s what she thinks until the press of his cock, and now there is nothing but tension in her body.</p>
<p>“Relax, Your Majesty,” he murmurs, actually going so far as to caress her back. The tension grows. “It’ll be easier if you stay relaxed.”</p>
<p>Right. Relaxed.</p>
<p>She breathes in and out, focusing on the way he’s still stroking her back in a pattern that actually helps to calm her nerves. “Okay. Okay,” she says into the wood table.</p>
<p>This is nothing new for the Queen. While anal sex was not her favorite sex act, it’s one that she has done before. She dislikes the vulnerability, the way she feels too exposed during it. Normally she’s not against feeling dirty, but this always pushes it. And right now, she feels almost (and ridiculous, considering everything) virginal.</p>
<p>Rumple pushes his fingers inside her one more time, testing, smearing more lubricant there before pulling them out, positioning his cock there instead. He pushes in slow, so slow, and the Queen bites her lip at the stretch of his head breaching her. She can hear him moan softly as he slides in, some breathy words spoken that she can’t hear over the rush of blood in her ears as he goes deeper, deeper.</p>
<p>“Oh, God,” she gasps again, once he stops, and he’s pulling back, pushing in and going further, working his hips until he’s pressed right against her ass, his chest against her back as he leans forward over her.</p>
<p>He presses a kiss to her shoulder, murmuring, “So good, Regina.” He enunciates the name carefully, and that sends a thrill through her, a little pulse of desire fluttering in her empty cunt. “I’ve thought of this before, you know,” he says, slowly pulling back and thrusting back into her, pushing her against the table.</p>
<p>She exhales sharply, fingers gripping the table’s edge. “<em>Fuck</em>.”</p>
<p>“All those pantsuits. Those tight skirts,” he says, so casually, so collected, as if he is not buried to the hilt in her ass. As if she does feel as if she’s about to pull apart at the seams, filled in a way that she hasn’t felt in a very long time. “Your arse is majestic,” he tells her, thrusting <em>hard</em> on the last word, dragging a ragged, pleasured whimper from her.</p>
<p>Every cell in her body vibrates, her blood thrumming in her veins. A series of metaphors trip through her mind: she’s drowning, flying, going supernova. None of them actually capture what she’s feeling.</p>
<p>“I’m not sure what I like most about it.” (He’s still talking, how is he still talking?) “How it looks in those delicious clothes you wear.” Every sentence is punctuated with a sharp thrust, gaining speed with each one spoken. “How it looks right now, bent over this table all for my pleasure.” He leans back then, far enough that he can bring his hand down on one ass cheek in a sharp spank.</p>
<p>She cries out, body lurching against the table at the shock of it. </p>
<p>“Or how—” thrust out, thrust in, “—fucking—” faster, harder now, <em>Oh God oh God</em>, “—fantastic—” he bends over her, thrusting as hard as he can, driving into her, and she’s arching beneath him, pushing her hips back as best she can, “—it feels—” he wraps his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest, one of his hands gripping her neck while the other reaches for her clit, “—wrapped around my cock.”</p>
<p>The Queen is gasping, moaning, crying out as he takes her, the gentleness gone now, he is <em>fucking</em> her again. His fingers rub harshly at her clit, his other hand squeezing her neck in rhythmic pulses. Then he’s moving his hand from her clit to her cunt, sliding a finger inside and grinding his palm over her clit, and somehow, that rockets her pleasure impossibly higher.</p>
<p>She feels so full, so utterly taken, and she’s crying out, “Rumple! I — oh <em>God</em>!” and trembling in his arms.</p>
<p>“Say it,” he hisses in her ear, biting down on her lobe.</p>
<p>Words fail her, high sounds of pleasure the only thing she can form, and then she finds enough of herself to get out, “<em>Please</em>!”</p>
<p>“That’s it, dearie,” he groans, thrusting, thrusting, driving in one final time and staying there, moaning harshly. “Come for me.”</p>
<p>She screams, nails scraping so hard against the wood as her fingers curl that she thinks a few break, and she’s fracturing apart, shattering in his grasp. Awareness knits back together slowly for her, everything blissfully grayed out and fading back into color as soreness settles into her overworked muscles.</p>
<p>The Queen lifts herself up, stumbling a bit, and Rumple is at the other counter, neatly put together. She doesn’t know how long it took for her to come out of her orgasm and the subsequent void of pleasure she fell into, but she thinks she can still see a hint of sweat at his brow. She licks her lips, looking around the backroom of the shop as if it is new territory. Her brain catalogs her clothes scattered about. As if it’s happening to another person, she can just barely feel his come leaking out of her.</p>
<p>With a wave of her hand, she tidies herself up, magicking her clothes back on, righting her hair and makeup. Across the way, there’s a mirror, and so she looks into it to slide some unruly strands of hair back into place.</p>
<p>“Well,” she says, voice hoarse, “that was… eventful. There was actually something else I came here for; this visit wasn’t just for the, ah, pillow talk.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Rumple is not looking at her, instead fiddling with whatever ridiculous item he can find. She’s pretty sure he does this to annoy her.</p>
<p>“What do you know about the Hammer of Hephaestus?” she asks, getting down to a different kind of business.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Lost in a maze of mirrors, Regina had been tapping random mirrors for what feels like days, looking in on every random citizen of Storybrooke except for any who might actually be helpful. Emma had wandered off in the opposite direction, trying to find anyone she could, and Regina was beginning to think they would be stuck there forever with her double running around dressed in her clothes.</p>
<p>(She’s a little hurt no one, not even her own son, can tell the difference. As far as she’s concerned, her evil half and her actual self are night and day, and yet her own family doesn’t recognize it when they see it.)</p>
<p>When she tapped on a mirror that looks into Gold’s shop, she didn't really mean to stick around. It’s just that the Evil Queen, dressed in Regina’s clothes and hair, walked in at the same time, and nothing good could come of those two having a meeting.</p>
<p>If only she had known how right she was about <em>that</em>.</p>
<p>In the past, Regina has been accused of having a voyeuristic streak, and though she would have laid the blame at the feet of her evil half, that might be a little harder to pull off when she watches the entire… dalliance between said evil half and Mr. Gold. She doesn’t mean to, once it becomes horrifically clear what they’re doing, she fully means to turn it off. But she watches the whole thing, disgusted and definitely not at all aroused, not a single bit.</p>
<p>The flush she feels is definitely shame.</p>
<p>“Regina?” Emma calls, and even though the exhibition is over, Regina jumps and taps the mirror, cutting off whatever conversation the Evil Queen and Rumple were having about Hephaestus’s Hammer. “Whoa, are you okay? You look flushed.”</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” she answers a bit too sharply. Even Emma looks confused by her tone. “Just… frustrated. Did you find anything?”</p>
<p>“No, nothing…”</p>
<p>Emma keeps talking, venting about all the mirrors she’s touched and how none of them have been helpful, and she’s walking away from the mirror she found Regina at. Regina follows, only half-listening to Emma’s rant while glancing back at the mirror into Gold’s shop.</p>
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